


and the stars are so bright (even when they fade)

by caitss



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, NDRV3 Spoilers, Overdose, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Tags are hard lol, Thinking You’re In Love When You Aren’t, slight momoharu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitss/pseuds/caitss
Summary: [MAJOR NDRV3 SPOILERS]On a starry night, Harukawa finds herself stargazing for the last time.——————————————————————-Or: Harukawa says her own goodbye.





	and the stars are so bright (even when they fade)

The stars are bright tonight.

Her clammy hands grip a capsule of pills, something that, once empty, would be her final victory in life. She’s sure of it. Her comfort is knowing that Yumeno and Saihara are safe in their rooms, sound asleep. She almost feels regret, knowing that she’s leaving them like everybody else did, but there is no choice. 

Harukawa stares up at the stars, dazzling as ever. Dead, but still shining a light and leading the way, just like a certain idiot she met a while back. The stars aren’t fiction, though. They’re dead, and that’s the only thing they share in common with a Momota. She’s a liar, she realizes.

The astronaut wasn’t fictional, not to her, never to her. She doesn’t care if he was some lie in Shirogane’s twisted mind, she loved him. 

Didn’t she? 

Was she really in love with him, or simply the idea of a person who would bring her out of her shell? A person who, without a doubt, with place their faith in her, and drag her through all the troubles. Maybe at the time, she was certain that she was in love, that he was everything she wanted. Maybe she was just following Shirogane’s outline, saying what sells the merch and what excites the fans. 

She digs her nails into her thighs. 

She can’t think of this, she can’t. If her love wasn’t even love, only a sick dependence, what was the point? What was the point of escaping? The lie that she wove herself, that she sewed into her heart still trapped her. But this time, there is a escape. There isn’t a cheesy happy ending where they win, where she defeats the bad guy with all her friends. 

Harukawa realizes, that there was never a escape. No matter how hard she tries and breaks the walls of glass, no matter how many times she stumbles out with her life still in her desperate hands, she never has a chance of escape. This was the only way, no matter how much suffering she will cause after. This was her choice, her last shred of free will. 

She pops open the bottle of pills with confidence.  
This was her last victory, or, maybe her only victory now that she thought about it. 

Overdose isn’t immediate. 

She swallows down her escape from this empty reality.

Harukawa’s head aches, sweat dripping down her face as she claws at her legs. Blood streaks her thighs, and she empties her stomach out on the grass. When was vomit red, again? Her face feels hot and her hands clammy. Her vision blurs, colors mixing together and blending into one unrecognizable landscape. The stars remain the same, searing her eyes.

Her face is warm, too warm, and she feels her heart beat pick up. It all hurts, and she tugs at her stupid hair and tries to scream, but her throat is raw and dry. Something needed to come out of her mouth, something. Harukawa starts to convulse, and she sees the guts and blood all over the press. The rocketship crashlanding. She feels like she’s there all over again, like she isn’t dying.

Agony fills her yet again, and she attempts to vomit one last time, nothing but saliva dripping from her lips. Her stomach twists in and out, and she sees a post lit on fire, a strangled inventor, the horrifying burning of a anthropologist, a artist and a aikido master surrounding in their own blood. A skeleton floating in a tank, a maid screaming as she climbs to her death, hitting the ground with a crunch. 

She wants to sleep.  
She feels vomit finally come out of her mouth, eyes wide and teary. Harukawa can’t breathe anymore; or maybe she can, but she doesn’t want to. Not anymore. Not ever again. 

 

A pianist slammed into her own instrument, crushed by her own devotion and love. A mysterious survivor bludgeoned, laying in his own blood. 

Finally, a ringleader crushed without any sense of personality. 

Harukawa convulses again, but this time, she feels the darkness creeping in the corners of her vision.  
Her gaze lands on the stars as she rips at the grass one last time, her fingers bloody and raw. It’s only now, that recognizes the scars on her skin that seemed to multiply each day. It’s only know that she realizes that she has all those panic attacks and breakdowns because of dead teenagers. 

God, who knew she’d die so slowly? Her arms are red. Her legs are red, too. Maybe she’s red, and she’s in flame, but that doesn’t matter now. Harukawa guesses she hasn’t even felt the worst yet. 

Momota was loud and energetic. He was somehow soft without harsh edges, though. He could bring anybody out of a ditch they want to die in, he was the glue that held too many people together. He was the sacrificial lamb, without them even knowing it. He was something that, without a doubt, was too perfect to live on this earth.  
And he died.

He was never who she thought he was, though. He was supposed to be kind and forgiving, with a inspirational personality. From what she saw, he was a psychopath, a bloodthirsty and money hungry monster. Was that who she fell in love with? Harukawa would have laughed if her breathing wasn’t ragged and if her throat wasn’t closing on itself. She had to face the reality, that she wasn’t in love, that she was never in love with him. 

Harukawa wasn’t in love, because love isn’t forced just so a TV show could get a good rating. Love isn’t a bind that makes you read a script that you were born to recite, something that controls you and your actions. Was Saihara in love? He probably wasn’t, and maybe he figured that out on his own. Maybe he realized after Akamatsu was crushed that he loved her words and her speeches, not the person she really was. 

Maybe Harukawa’s desperate for someone to understand; which was stupid.

Her head hurts now.  
The darkness covers half of her vision, or what’s left of it. Her stomach is crushing itself, her lungs seem like their failing on their own, and she can feels the blood on her. The real crimson, and the nonexistent pink of fake assassinations. She’s been dying for a while, or maybe it’s only been a minute, or a breath. Time feels like it’s slowing, or maybe it’s quickening. 

She finally looks back at the stars again.

Even they seem dim now, only white balls of light that mix in with the unforgiving milky blue of the sky. Now that she looks back on it, the sky was never a milky blue. Maybe it’s the pills taking their final effect.

With what seems like to be the worst pain in her life, darkness creeps over her vision completely. 

And she dies, just like the strangers she thought she knew. 

People never change.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic send help
> 
> also i’m always ready for criticism, i want to improve my writing!
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> EDIT: this isn’t actually how i think harukawa would feel about momota, but i did it for the angst


End file.
